Reincarnation
by GeishaGirl93
Summary: "In a different life, in a different time and place, you would be my husband."


Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.  
A/N: Potential OOCness; Kabuto is a very complex character; don't know if I can do him justice, but I'm going to try. Orochimaru might me OOC as well.

Title: Reincarnation  
Summary: "In a different life, in a different time and place, you would be my husband."

Xxxx

In the most subtle of movements, Orochimaru's body betrays his illusion and reveals his true age. There are times when Kabuto can see it, and there are times when he can't, but little by little, the glass that supports the illusion is slowly breaking beneath the weight. Here recently, the glass has been creaking, and it's close to shattering.

The bodies wear out more and more quickly, and the pain increases in volume like a crescendo in an opera. Sometimes, a muscle in Orochimaru's cheek with twitch—a miniscule jerk of muscle beneath ashen flesh. There are days when he startles, claiming that he can't roll over in his bed—that his bones feel like they have been filled with lead instead of marrow, and it's these days that Kabuto cherishes the most.

It's selfish and heartless, but on the days like this, Kabuto knows he needed, knows his touches bring pleasure and relief, knows that he can be _some form_ of a healer like he was trained to be. Orochimaru feels thin in his arms when he lifts him from the damp sheets and carries him into the bathing room, and Kabuto feels something throb in his chest—like he's the only thing holding Orochimaru together; if he let's go, his master will fall apart.

_You're already fraying at the edges. I don't want to see you fall apart._

Kabuto doesn't remember a thing about his birth mother. The only mother he remembers is the woman who was forced to forget him, and it breaks his heart to remember her on the ground, dirt in her hair, blood smeared on her lips like a macabre rouge, eyes searching his face and finding no familiarity as the life faded from them.

_I don't want to see that happen to you; don't let me see you die. I don't want to see you die._

"Silly boy," Orochimaru's voice is thick with a drug-induced sleep, "I'm not going to die."

Kabuto blinks and he is anchored back into reality. His sternum aches from leaning against the rim of the basin, and arms are elbow-deep in warm bathwater that smells of sandalwood. His hair is damp with humidity, and his glasses have been marred with fog. His hands are curved around Orochimaru's ribs, his fingers filling the gabs between the bones. Orochimaru's head is resting against his shoulder, the black hair heavy and glistening with water. His mouth is warm against Kabuto's neck, slightly chapped and crusted with old blood.

"Silly boy," Orochimaru says again, and there's a slight laugh that causes his body to vibrate, "I'm not going to leave you."

Kabuto feels the doctor in him scratching at his throat, and he finally voices his opinion, "You're rotting, Orochimaru-sama."

Orochimaru's smile feels like a sickle moon against Kabuto's pulse point. "I know that, but I'm not going to die."

"How do you know that?"

"You're my doctor. You'll think of something; you always do."

And it's true isn't it? That's what Kabuto has been doing for years—fixing the unfixable, making fatal wounds vanish and leaving pink, angry scars in their wake.

_But you couldn't fix Kimimaro, and you can't fix this._

"Kabuto, bathe with me."

This is a chance to break free from their roles and breathe—_live_. Kabuto takes the opportunity and clenches it in his hand.

The bathwater ripples as Kabuto sinks into its warm, and Orochimaru leans against his chest, his eyelids fluttering as Kabuto uses his thumbs to rub circles into Orochimaru's wrist. The bone is slender, frail. Kabuto's afraid if he freezes too hard, he'll break it.

_He's so much stronger than that; I know that. So why am I afraid?_

Orochimaru breathes and his chest expands with it. Kabuto gathers up his hair and drapes it over Orochimaru's slender shoulder, and it's beautiful and pin-straight—a splash of ink on a crisp sheet of paper.

"What are you thinking of, Kabuto?"

"I was thinking of you."

Kabuto knows better than to lie. Orochimaru knows him too well, and while he is a great spy, he is not good enough to fool his master (_and somewhere deep down, he doesn't want to fool him; he doesn't want to hide anything_).

Orochimaru makes a humming sound, and Kabuto wraps an arm around him, secures Orochimaru to his chest and the rest of the world.

"I don't want to let you go." Kabuto whispers and he buries his face in the darkness of Orochimaru's hair. "I can't let you go."

Orochimaru doesn't answer, and when Kabuto looks at him, the effects of the drugs have glazed over his eyes. The once startling golden eyes have dulled and look more septic than anything. His mouth is slightly parted, lips chapped and slick. Kabuto wants to kiss him but instead opts to run his thumb over the thin mounds. Orochimaru sighs and his earrings glint in the bright lighting.

"Do you want to kiss me, Kabuto?"

"Yes."

Orochimaru smiles and it's softened from fatigue and sickness. "Then do it."

Orochimaru tastes like bitter medicine, blood and something spicy, but there is no heat. His tongue curls against Kabuto's, traces his teeth and gums, gently rubs at the roof of his mouth. Orochimaru makes a noise in the back of his throat—something that sounds like a hiss that bleeds into a purr. The sound is reminiscent of a dragon awakening from its slumber, and Kabuto almost laughs at the irony.

When he pulls away, Kabuto places a kiss on the high slope of Orochimaru's cheekbone. "You are beautiful, and you don't know it. I have killed for you, and I will die for you."

Orochimaru's hand emerges from the water like a pale butterfly that has been drowned by the rain. The hand curves around Kabuto's face and the smile on Orochimaru's face is one Kabuto knows he will never see again.

"In a different life, in a different time and place, you could have been my husband." Orochimaru says, and he kisses Kabuto on the chin. It's sloppy and wet, another effect of the drug. "We would have a nice house, somewhere deep in the forest, and we'd have beautiful children—a boy and a girl, maybe. They'd be orphans from some forgotten war, and we'd love them and teach them. The perfect children for the perfect family, and there wouldn't be any more wars, and we'd be happy in our fantasy house.

"I know I am beautiful, Yakushi Kabuto, but you make me _feel _beautiful."

The next day, Orochimaru is as cold as the moon. His back is erect, and his silver tongue quickly bites away at the advice that is given to him. His eyes are back to being luminescent, and the ashen complexion has brightened to something akin to cleaned, fresh bone—devoid of any of the pink muscle or clingy cartilage. Yesterday's events come to him in brief flashes, but that is all he can recollect—the drugs make sure of that.

However, as Kabuto passes him a cup of steaming medicine, Orochimaru smiles at him, and it's a shadow of what it was yesterday, but it's still there and it's _all Kabuto's_.

"Come now, my darling husband, and give me a kiss."

What they share is a mockery of what a true kiss between a married couple, but it's still nice and soft, no venom to make it dangerous or lies to make it palatable. Kabuto's free hand takes root on Orochimaru's slender hips, and Orochimaru's hand fills with the back of Kabuto's neck, and it feels very nice when Orochimaru plays with the hairs at the base of his neck.

"In a different life," Kabuto says as he presses his lips to Orochimaru's neck and laves at the soft, damp skin he finds there, "I would make you mine."


End file.
